


A Matter of Perception

by SPowell



Series: A Matter of Perception series [1]
Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/SPowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silly game of one-upmanship threatens to ruin the partner's friendship, until something happens that changes everything.</p>
<p>Episode related: "Death in a Different Place"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Perception

**Author's Note:**

> Again, an older story I've brought over from another archive.
> 
> Disclaimer: Starsky and Hutch are not mine.

**A Matter of Perception**

Something had been eating at Starsky for a day now. Hutch had dropped one of his one-liners the day before, and this one had stuck in his head. The case they’d just wrapped up had centered around a man Starsky had grown up with and  _thought_ he’d known, who had turned out to be a closet homosexual. And now Sims and Rodriguez were working on a hate crime involving a gay bar. He could hear the words “faggot” and “homo”drift across the office as Sims emptied the venom of his small mind. “Sims!” Dobey shouted, and Sims scrambled his stuff together and went into Dobey’s office.

Starsky looked over at Hutch where he was finishing up his work for the day, poking at the typewriter with his index finger and struggling with the correction tape. Starsky had shoved the rest of his reports into the drawer, where they would sit untouched until Dobey screamed at him to finish them.

“So I was just wondering,” Starsky began casually, propping his feet on the table by his typewriter, “Why didn’t you answer me yesterday?”

“Answer you about what?” Hutch asked distractedly. “Damn!” He reached for the correction tape again. Starsky wondered if his partner realized he had three pens sticking in his hair. One behind each ear, and one tangled on top.

“I don’t see how you can make so many mistakes when you’re just usin’ one finger,” Starsky commented, and Hutch looked up.

“ _You_ wanna finish this? No? Then shut up.”

Starsky grinned and went back to what he was saying. “You said to me yesterday in the car that we spend so much time together, we might as well be gay, and…”

“I don’t think those were my exact words, Starsky,” Hutch interrupted.

“…then you said that I wasn’t even a good kisser. I asked you how you knew that, and you never answered me. Have you kissed me and I didn’t know it or something?”

Hutch yanked the paper out of the typewriter, put it in the folder, and looked around for a pen to sign it with. Starsky pointed to his head, and Hutch sheepishly took one from behind his ear, signed the paper, and stood up. “Oh, if I kissed you, you’d know it,” he assured him, slipping into his jacket. The other two pens fell to the floor, and he picked them up.

“Well la-de-da, Detective Don Juan.” Starsky grabbed his jacket. “So you’ve got no idea what kind of kisser I am, unless you’ve been talking to some of my dates…” Starsky followed Hutch out the door, down the steps and outside into the darkness.

Hutch laughed.  “Don’t worry, Starsk, I was only pulling your chain.” He climbed into the passenger seat of the Torino and shut the door. “I just guessed that you’re a bad kisser.”

Once behind the wheel and out in traffic, Starsky glanced at Hutch. “You can be awful mean,” he commented. Hutch sighed.

“Starsky, anybody ever tell you you’re too sensitive?”

“Yes. You.”

“Well, I’m telling you again. I was just teasing you, that’s all. You were so obviously uncomfortable with the whole homosexuality thing in the case—and that’s  _okay_ , partner. That’s just the way you were brought up.”

“Oh no, don’t go patronizing me, Hutch! I know about homosexuality, and I’m as tolerant as the next guy.”

“Who’s the next guy? Sims? It’s obvious that you don’t want to think about same gender sex. And that’s fine---I was just trying to point out yesterday that men can be close to each other---spend most of their time together---and not necessarily be screwing each other, that’s all.”

“Oh. Okay, I guess,” Starsky rolled his shoulders, slightly mollified. Only he still thought there was an insult in there somewhere. Frankly, he was getting sick of all of Hutch’s teasing. He’d had a real shock when he’d found out that Johnny Blaine was gay. Lots of people were shocked. That didn’t make Starsky shallow.

In front of Hutch’s apartment, Hutch climbed out of the car. Sticking his head back in the window, he said, “You want to come up for a beer?”

Starsky threw the car into park and turned off the engine. “I could go for a beer. I’m out of ‘em at home.” Privately, he wondered if Hutch was up to something. He had his  _I’m going to teach Starsky a lesson_ face on.

He followed his friend up the dark stairs to his apartment and waited while he unlocked the door, putting on an innocent look and thinking he was going to beat Hutch at his own game for once, whatever it was he had planned. Hutch stuck his head in the refrigerator, got two bottles, and they went out onto the back porch. Starsky sprawled out in a lawn chair while Hutch tended to his plants.

“Starsky, I can tell you’re still thinking about this,” Hutch commented, pouring a thin stream of water on a hanging fern and glancing at his partner. “I can see the wheels turning.”

“Yeah, well, I just like to get things straight in my mind, ya know?”

Hutch set the watering can on the table and went and sat on the patio chair next to his partner. “You haven’t gotten over it that John--someone you thought you knew pretty well-- had hidden relationships with other men. That’s understandable.” He took a swig of beer. “I’m sure it was a shock, Starsk. You just haven’t been exposed to that kind of thing much, that’s all.”

“And you have?” Starsky challenged.

“Well, sure, some…in college.”

“Oh, so you’re sayin’ you’re so worldly you were experimenting in college?”

“No!” Hutch was taken aback. “I wasn’t---it’s just…” he spluttered.

Starsky smiled, devilishly pleased to have flustered his friend out of his superiority, at least for the moment.

Hutch leaned back and was silent a beat, watching the moths swarming around the porch light. Setting his beer on the table, he suddenly said, “Give me your hand.”

Starsky looked at him suspiciously. “What for?”

“Oh come on, Starsk,” Hutch said impatiently, “give me your hand!”

Starsky put his right hand out and Hutch held it in both of his, flattening it and turning it over, studying it like it was the most fascinating thing he’d seen in a long while.

Starsky stared at him with a bemused expression. “Is the Great Blondini gonna read my palm?” he finally asked when several seconds of this had gone by without a word from Hutch.

“Nope.” Hutch moved so he was shaking Starsky’s hand, palm to palm with one hand, and clasping it on the back with the other. “How do you do?”

Starsky looked at Hutch like he was off the beam, and Hutch laughed. “Just humor me a minute.” He shook Starsky’s hand again, like they were meeting on the street.

“You see, Starsky, it’s all about perception. Hand shaking is acceptable, right?” He loosened his grip and simply held Starsky’s hand. “How’s this? Does this make you uncomfortable, buddy?”

Starsky glanced at their loosely clasped hands, trying to figure out what his partner was up to. “No…that’s fine.’

“Okay,” Hutch said, thinking a moment. “How about this?” He raised Starsky’s hand, still clasped in his own, to his lips and gently kissed it, like some guy in an old movie might kiss a woman’s hand.  Starsky frowned, but didn’t pull away.

“Ooo—kaaay.”

Hutch looked impressed. “Well, you’re comfortable with more than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m not a Neanderthal, Hutch,” Starsky rolled his eyes.

“So. You’re okay with the hand shaking, hand holding, and with the kiss on the back of your hand.  Well, how ‘bout this?” Hutch turned Starsky’s hand over, brought it to his lips, and gently kissed the center of his palm. Their eyes met. This contact was infinitely more intimate than the other, sending shivers up Starsky’s back, but he held firm. He was getting the sneaking suspicion that Hutch was  _trying_ to make him uncomfortable, and he wasn’t going to let him. He _knew_ he was up to something!

“Different, but okay,” he said casually.

“Different how?”

”Well,” Starsky pursed his lips a moment and gave a show of thinking about it, “it was more…personal, ya know? I guess there are more nerve endings on the palm than on the back of the hand.”

“But you didn’t feel like you wanted to pull away. Because I’m a man.”

Starsky shrugged. “Naw.”

Hutch was becoming a little disgruntled, but hid it from his partner. He’d thought the kiss on the palm would really get him, and they could drop this subject, with the unspoken agreement that he was higher up on the evolutional ladder than his partner. What was he going to do now to take it up a notch? Briefly he considered sticking Starsky’s finger in his mouth and sucking on it, but that seemed a little extreme at this point in the game. And it was a game, or it had turned into one, as so many discussions he had with his partner did.

A kind of innocent competition between the two of them.

Tentatively, he reached out and ran a finger down the side of Starsky’s face. When his partner didn’t react, Hutch pressed his palm there. “Okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” Starsky replied. “You’ve touched me like that plenty of times in the past.”

“Right,” Hutch allowed. He leaned closer, scooting to the edge of the chair and ran his hand down to Starsky’s neck and around to the back of his head. Starsky raised his eyebrows. “For pete’s sake, Hutch, is this supposed to bother me? Whaddya gonna do next, tweak my nose?”

Before he could say another word, Hutch, frustrated to the extreme that this wasn’t coming out the way he’d planned, pulled Starsky toward him and brought his mouth to his.

This time Starsky’s eyes widened considerably, and Hutch could feel him stiffening in his loose embrace and pulling away slightly. He smiled against Starsky’s lips, triumphant.  _Ah HA!_ But then there was a slight change in his partner’s demeanor, and he relaxed in Hutch’s arms, seemingly fine with the chaste kiss.

Hutch’s mind raced.  _What the fuck? I know Starsky, and this has got to bother the hell out of him! And he’s going to admit it if it’s the last thing he does!_

More determined than ever, Hutch moved closer, wrapping his arms around Starsky and pulling him closer, their knees touching each other’s groins. Expecting Starsky to break away and bellow his surrender, Hutch closed his eyes and told himself he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable kissing his best friend, a man, full on the mouth. To his complete and utter amazement, Starsky put his hands on each side of Hutch’s face and … _was that his tongue moving across his lips??!_ It was all Hutch could do to hold still. His breath quickened, but he concentrated on relaxing. He was  _not_  going to pull away first.

Starsky had to hand it to Hutch, he was playing to win. But what his buddy didn’t realize was that Starsky was completely onto him and there was no way in hell he was going to lose this competition---because that is what it had become, a competition. He was done being Hutch’s little puppet in these mind games. He was really pretty surprised that it was this easy. Hutch’s body was familiar to him. He’d seen it a million times, touched it often, and certainly didn’t have an aversion to it. In fact, touching Hutch was almost like touching himself, only….he had more of an appreciation and reverence for Hutch’s body. It was so different from his own---golden, not dark; smooth, not hairy. And where Starsky’s hair was dark and curly, Hutch’s was so silky and whitish blond---just like a little kid’s. One of his hands slid off Hutch’s face onto the curve of his neck and shoulder. He was smooth there, too, he observed, breathing in through his nose.

When Starsky made his big move and ran his tongue over his partner’s lips, which were soft as a woman’s, he couldn’t help but notice, he had felt Hutch jerk. Now, with his hand moving south, he could feel him begin to tremble. Yeah, he had him right where he wanted him. He was about to bolt.

But Hutch didn’t pull away. Incredibly, they were still kissing. Of course, it wasn’t exactly a lover’s kiss, more like a prolonged smooch. Except for the tongue, of course. Feeling that was the ace in the hole that would get Hutch to surrender, Starsky again moved his tongue over his friend’s lips, and  _holy god---_  Hutch opened his mouth and met him with his own!

Starsky’s hands began to shake.  _Holy crap, what am I gonna do now?_  He couldn’t believe Hutch had taken it this far....the son-of-a-bitch was calling his bluff!

Moving his head slightly, Starsky deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding over Hutch’s, gently probing and gliding. It felt good. Jesus, it felt really good. They were both leaning forward from their chairs, and Hutch suddenly abandoned his and knelt between Starsky’s knees, one arm around his neck and the other encircling his waist. Starsky could feel his partner’s heart beating against his own—and it was beating fast and hard. He was lost.

When Hutch took Starsky’s tongue in his mouth and sucked on it gently, Starsky breathed in sharply and felt himself melting down to the ground. A shaky moan escaped his lips and before he knew what was happening, he was sprawled on top of Hutch on the floor of the patio.

“Oh god, oh shit, Starsky---” Hutch panted, when they’d both broken from the kiss.

“Mother of god, help me…” Starsky muttered, taking a long, careful breath, his head on Hutch’s shoulder. Neither man could deny that they had both fully enjoyed what had just taken place, since their respective hard as rock crotches were pressed against one another’s legs.

“Uncle,” Starsky finally croaked. “I give up. You win. You’re the better man.” He crawled slowly to his feet and stood, swaying. He took a shaky swig of his beer, grabbed his jacket, and left without another word.

Hutch had won. So why didn’t he feel like he had?

_______________

Hutch lay awake all night thinking about what had happened. Hell, what _had_ happened? It had started out as a little fun---keep Starsky guessing about his comment yesterday, then make him think he was being unreasonable. But it wasn’t just that…Hutch had wanted to try to help Starsky understand that it really _was_  just a matter of perception. If you let yourself think that something was bad, then it seemed bad. He and Starsky had always been very close, and they’d never felt strange showing affection or comforting one another. They spent most of their time together working and playing. Did that make them gay? No. Did people call them gay? Sometimes. There were guys at the precinct who kidded them about it, though none were serious. The partners’ record with the women was too well-known. But if someone told them it was wrong, and they chose to believe it, they would lose something very special in their lives. And what was the difference between a kiss on the cheek and a kiss on the lips, really?

Hutch believed that, but he also knew that the kiss on the lips that he and his partner had shared that evening had gone way past the level of affection that they were accustomed to showing. He had an ache in his pants for Starsky that had never been there before, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Especially since Starsky seemed pretty freaked out about it. There wasn’t anything  _to_  do except to ignore it and go out with a woman really soon.

+++

The next day the two men acted like nothing had ever happened. Everything was fine…work as usual, joking around as usual. They certainly had not spent twenty minutes writhing in one another’s embrace on the floor, French kissing like two teenagers. No, everything the night before had been…as usual. That’s the way they silently agreed to play it.

Hutch immediately asked Amanda the meter maid out for that night, and he heard Starsky say he was headed for The Pits after work, probably to drink away the embarrassing memory and flirt with the ladies.

He took Amanda to a movie, where they sat in the back and made out. They’d been out plenty of times before and had a mutual understanding that if one needed an ‘outlet’, they could call the other. Hutch felt he needed an outlet bad, and he wasn’t wasting any time. If only his partner’s face wouldn’t pop up in front of him every time he kissed Amanda. And if only he didn’t feel let down by her soft curves…curves that had always worked for him before. To top that, Amanda was boring. They had to make out in the movie because this was the world’s stupidest movie, one of Amanda’s choosing. And there was nothing to talk about in the car or anywhere else. The coupling at Hutch’s apartment was fast, frenzied, and then it fizzled. Claiming fatigue, the meter maid caught a cab home, and Hutch found himself still thinking of Starsky.

He wondered what his friend was doing…if he’d picked up at girl at The Pits and had her at home right now, in bed. Hutch could feel his face flush at the thought. Or maybe he and Huggy were just shooting the breeze, having fun. That brought a tinge of jealousy that surprised Hutch. It wasn’t Huggy so much he was jealous of, but the thought of the fun he was missing out on, not being with Starsky. Unless he thought of Starsky  _kissing_  Huggy…then he felt jealous.  _Damn._

_Crap! What the hell is going on?_

Hutch was an honest guy, and first and foremost, he always tried to be honest with himself. He knew he loved Starsky. He would die for Starsky. He breathed deeply. Now it seemed he was attracted to Starsky, and it wasn’t going to go away. This had been coming on for a while, but he hadn’t acknowledged it. Just little feelings here and there that he’d brushed off. Had he pushed that game yesterday because he’d wanted to kiss his partner? He didn’t  _think_ so, but he couldn’t be sure. And if this was really the way he felt, how was he going to convince Starsky it was right? Starsky, who considered himself a real ladies' man and was proud of it. Starsky, whose image of his tough-cop father, killed in action when he was young, was the epitome of a man. The task seemed impossible. Yet, Hutch’s vivid memory of his partner’s response to his kiss fueled his hope. Unable to sleep, he got out of bed and put his clothes back on.

____

Hutch walked into The Pits, looking around for his partner.

“What it is?” Came a familiar voice from behind him. Hutch turned and he and Huggy joined in a loose embrace.

“Starsk around?” Hutch asked.

“It would seem you just missed him, my blond brother. He left with some chick. That Starsky was on the prowl tonight, mm mmm mmmm. He had a girl in his pocket in no time. A blond and blue-eyed angel.”

Hutch nodded, keeping his features in check. “Okay, thanks.” Huggy moved away to speak to a customer, and Hutch headed for the door, frowning. Was Starsky doing what he had done? Trying to screw away the memory and implications of what happened between them? Would he find it as ineffectual as he had?

 

Loud pounding on the door woke Hutch out of a deep sleep, and he rolled over to look at the clock. Barely 3 AM. He started to get out of bed but then heard the key in the lock.  _Starsky. He’s the only one with a key. Is he here because he had a miserable time with his date? Why else would he be here at this time of night? Did he come back to talk about what had happened between them?_

“Hutch, where are you?” Starsky stormed into the bedroom, anger written all over his face. It seemed they were  _not_ going to have the conversation he’d hoped to have.

“In bed, where else?” Hutch asked. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You’re what’s the matter!” Starsky pointed an accusing finger. He was shaking all over. He wanted desperately to sock Hutch right in the mouth. He didn’t think he’d ever been so worked up about something before in his life.

Hutch tried to soothe him, but Starsky wasn’t having it. “Keep your soft words for another day, Hutch. You and me are gonna have it out.”

Hutch stood up, realized he was only wearing underwear, and looked around for something to put on.

“You don’t need to be dressed for me to lay you out on the floor,” Starsky told him, and for the briefest of moments, Hutch misunderstood him and felt a deep flush rising over his body. Then he realized that Starsky was pushing up his sleeve, ready to hit him.

”What in the  _hell_ are you going on about, Starsky? You come over here and shout and threaten me in the middle of the night…I ought to…”

“You oughta what?” Starsky dared, getting up in his face.

Hutch could smell the booze on him, and his anger deflated. “Okay, Starsky. Tell me what it is I did, and then you can beat me up.” He walked past him and into the living room, switching on the overhead light as he went.

“I hate it when you do that!” Starsky yelled, following him.

“Do what?”

“Take the fucking high road! You’ve ruined me, you know that? Ruined me!” He staggered, then caught himself.

Hutch turned around and looked at him. Starsky’s drunken raving was getting annoying. And loud. “What are you talking about, you idiot? And be quiet---you could wake the dead.”

Starsky stabbed a finger at Hutch’s bare chest. “You had to play that little mind game with me…kiss me and get me all worked up…and now I can’t even perform anymore! You did it on purpose. That’s the kinda thing you enjoy doing---messing with people and making them do stuff!”

Hutch sighed and sat heavily on the couch. Starsky was obviously more upset about what had happened than he’d thought, and things weighed heavily on Starsky. Now he’d found himself impotent with a woman, and Hutch knew how important his partner’s virility was to him. In some ways, it defined him. Hutch had to put a stop to this now.

“You’re right,” he said.

“Huh?” Starsky tilted sideways drunkenly, then sank to the floor at Hutch’s feet.

“I said, you’re right. I enjoy messing with your mind and making you do stuff. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Starsky swallowed. “All right, then. Well that’s just peachy.”

Hutch looked sadly at his partner. “Starsky, I don’t want you to worry about the feelings you had when we were kissing. Hell, that’s just natural. It didn’t mean anything, okay?”

“It was n’tral?” Starsky asked, his face going through drunken emotions like an unfocused slide reel.

“Yeah. It doesn’t mean you’re any less of a man.” Hutch laughed softly. “See? I really had you. And I’m sorry…it was a bad joke.”

“Ssoo I’m not…gay?”

Hutch shook his head. “Nope.”

“And I’m not in love with you?”

Hutch looked away, but only for a split second. “Nope.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Starsky sagged down on the floor, and within seconds he was asleep and drooling on the carpet, his ass up in the air. Hutch got a blanket and covered him up, tucking a pillow from the couch under his head. Sliding his hand through Starsky’s dark curls, he knelt and bestowed a gentle kiss on his partner’s forehead.

“It’s all in the way you perceive things, Starsk,” he whispered. “See? I tell you it’s okay, and it is. Nothing to worry about, buddy.”

 

“Hey, why didn’t you wake me?” Starsky asked Hutch from around the danish in his mouth as he came rushing into the squad room.

“Spend the night together again?” Sims gaffawed from around the toothpick in his mouth. Starsky smacked him on the back of the head. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you don’t have any friends, Sims.”

Slinging his jacket over his chair, he jerked the drawer open and pulled out a file. “Dobey wanted me to finish these---yesterday.” He stuffed one in the typewriter and twisted the knob.

Hutch finished signing a report before looking up. “I didn’t wake you because you were so drunk last night, I took pity on you.” Starsky seemed chipper and happy this morning. Hutch decided his words the night before must’ve mollified him and settled his mind. Only, the more he watched him, the more he thought something was off.

“Thanks,” Starsky said around another bite of danish. He offered the rest to Hutch, who shook his head, making a face.

Hutch watched Starsky type his report. He knew his partner well, and despite his outward appearance, there was an underlying tension in his demeanor.

The week went by much like any other, except Starsky was moody and at times unapproachable. Hutch tried asking him what was wrong, but Starsky wouldn’t say. Evidently it wasn’t impotency, because Starsky continued to see the girl he’d met that night at The Pits and frequently boasted about their romps in the sack. By the end of the month he was spending every night with her. Hutch suspected she was his confidante, because he certainly wasn’t telling him anything anymore.

It hurt him to think that he had ruined their friendship with his insensitivity. Had the game of one-upmanship been worth it? Of course not, but he had never entered into it intending for what happened to happen. Who knew Starsky would hold out so long and take it so far? Hutch wondered if he was still angry about it---maybe that was why he was avoiding him, yet that was difficult to believe, since Starsky had never been one to hold a grudge. Yet Starsky had put a lot of distance between them. Hutch desperately missed his friendship. He desperately wished he’d never taunted him into that kiss. He desperately wanted to kiss him again and beg him to be his and only his. He couldn’t believe his feelings for him had changed like this, but they had. He wasn’t interested in any women he talked to, and his world was crashing down around him.

But he would never let Starsky know it. He  _would_ push his feelings aside. For Starsky.

A couple of months later, Starsky sat eating his lunch at his desk. Hutch had gone out to eat, asking him to go with him, as he usually did, but Starsky had declined. He’d started bringing his lunches now that Linda made them for him. She was a regular Suzy Homemaker. Short, blond, and blue-eyed, she was sweet, a good lover, and they got along well.  She wasn’t much of a thinker, though.

For quite a while he’d been spending all his spare time with her. She had practically moved in with him. Starsky figured at his age, it was time he got serious about someone and stopped flitting from one chick to another.

And it was about time he stopped spending every waking minute with Hutch. He spent plenty of time with him at work, and if he hung with him after work, too, like he’d been doing for years, that left practically no time for a social life. He knew Hutch thought he was still mad at him---and maybe on some level he was. But he had pushed all of that to the back of his mind. Maybe he should’ve gone to lunch with Hutch today, even if Linda had packed one for him.

He sighed, feeling torn, and took a bite of pickle.

“Busted two guys for that hate crime,” Sims commented from his seat across the room. He shifted the ever-present toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other using his tongue. His partner, Ronald, was on the phone.

“Oh yeah?” Starsky said. “The busted windows and grafitti?”

“Yeah. Admitted they did it because they were sick of seeing those fags. Night after night, coming out with their arms around each other, sometimes even holding hands! It’s sick, I tell you.”

Starsky shrugged. “To each his own.”

Sims wasn’t finished, though. “I just don’t get two men wantin’ to rub their hands all over each other…” he shuddered. “Gives me the heebie jeebies.”

Starsky grunted, taking a bite of his sandwich. Was Sims ever going to shut up?

“I can’t imagine what they do to each other in private, either! Hell, I don’t wanna imagine it! Christ!”

“Sims, knock it off.” He was getting sick of the guy’s mouth. But he did have to see him every day, so he softened his voice and added, “I’m eatin’ here.”

Sims laughed. “Sorry, forgot who I was talkin’ to. Probably you and Hutch hold hands all the time,” Sims said good-naturedly. It was a running joke that usually didn’t elicit anything more than a raised finger, but this time it was the wrong thing at the wrong time. Starsky jumped up from his seat so fast, his chair fell over. Fists and teeth clenched, Starsky growled, “I’ve about had it with you, Sims. I am in a serious relationship with a woman, and I don’t think you’re funny.”

Hutch had entered the room at the end of Sim’s last comment, and now he put a gentling hand on Starsky’s arm, but Starsky jerked it away and crashed out of the room, sending the papers on his desk flying.

“What’s stuck up his ass?” Sims wondered.

“Shut up, Sims,” Hutch said. He picked up the papers, sat down, and immersed himself in work, as he’d been doing for the past few months.

“Gawd, you can’t say anything around here anymore! It’s like a fucking morgue,” Sims complained, shaking his head and chewing on his toothpick. “You shoulda tole me you and Starsky broke up---I woulda watched my mouth.”

Hutch gave Sims the finger he’d been waiting for, and Sims chuckled, settling down to work.

 

Starsky drove home a little too fast. He knew he shouldn’t be leaving work in the middle of the day, but Sims had really got his blood boiling. What he wanted to do was indulge in a little afternoon delight with Linda. She had spent the night and promised to have him a home cooked meal for dinner. This would probably be what it would be like to be married…food and sex all the time. It should make him happy, he thought. But he wondered if it really would.

As he rounded the corner, his foot shifting to brake, there was a slight stick before compression. He had noticed this the day before on the way to work. He pumped again and the brake gave way a little too much.  He slowed, and tried again on the next turn. Something was definitely off with the brakes. He needed to take the car into the shop as soon as possible. You couldn’t be too careful.

Linda met him at the door. “Dave! What are you doing home this early?” She threw her arms around him. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed, and he wondered how she’d feel about rolling back into it with him.

“Just thought I’d make a run home and see ya,” he kissed her deeply.

“Aw, did you miss me?” She looked at him with china blue doll’s eyes and puckered her sweet little mouth.

“You know it,” Starsky kissed her again and pushed her toward the bedroom.

“Dave,  _now_?” she giggled, but didn’t protest.

When they’d toppled onto the bed, he buried his face in her hair, so blond and pretty. And an image as clear as day sprung before his mind of Hutch’s white-blond hair and the way it gleamed in the sunlight. He swallowed, pushing the image away. His partner didn’t belong in this moment. He rose up and looked into Linda’s clear, blue eyes. Hutch’s eyes were bluer.  _Dammit, who cares about Hutch’s eyes?_  He leaned down and kissed her lips, she shivered, and …there was Hutch…the image of that kiss they’d shared, so deep and …so different from this. More passionate, more demanding. It had drug every emotion he’d had up from his core and driven him further…wanting more.

Starsky yanked back from Linda as if she’d burned him.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” she wrapped her arms tighter around him and tried to kiss him again, but he pulled away. The built up sexual tension of the last five minutes was not directed at her, and he knew it. This realization quickly caused him to lose it altogether.

He climbed off the bed and got his jacket.

“Dave, what’s wrong? Where are you going?”

Her blue eyes were so worried, Starsky felt like a heel. He pulled her up to him and kissed her, although not very passionately. “Sorry, sweetheart, I just remembered something really important I left undone at work.”

“Oh…well, okay. Don’t forget I’m making something special for you for dinner.” She ran her hands up over his shoulders and down his back, hugging him tightly. “I’ll miss you this afternoon.”

“Yeah, me too,” Starsky said, already pulling away. He fled the apartment almost as quickly as he’d fled the precinct less than an hour earlier. At this rate, he’d have nowhere left to run.

+++

Captain Dobey stuck his head out his office door. “Hutchinson! I need you and Starsky in here.” His head disappeared.

Hutch followed him, closing the door behind him.

“Where’s Starsky?” Dobey demanded, shuffling the papers on his desk, looking for his pen.

“He…uh…he stepped out. He’ll be right back,” Hutch lied. He didn’t know if Starsky was coming back.

Dobey found his pen and jotted something down on a piece of paper. “Well, I need you to see this guy about that drug deal we talked about.” He handed him the paper. “You and Starsky get over there.”

Hutch left the room, the paper in his hand. Grabbing his jacket, he headed out the door, only remembering when he’d reached the parking lot that he hadn’t brought his car this morning. Starsky still picked him up occasionally and dropped him off home, only he never came in for a beer anymore and they never made plans. Every attempt Hutch had made to get Starsky to talk about more than work or the most trivial of topics other than Starsky’s terrific sex life had been thwarted until Hutch had pretty much stopped trying.

“Now what am I going to do?” Hutch wondered, standing outside the station with his hands on his hips. He had covered for Starsky, telling Dobey he’d “stepped out” when the truth was he’d walked out without a word. Hutch had gleened from what Sims had said that the sore subject he and Starsky had been dancing around for the last couple of months had driven his partner home to his girlfriend. Hutch walked a block to a payphone and put a coin in, dialing Starsky’s number.

“Hello?” a sweet voice answered.

“Uh, Linda?” god, he hoped that was the right name.

“Yes?”

“I’m looking for Starsky. This is Hutch… his partner.”

“His partner?” Linda asked, sounding confused.

“At work. We’re cops….”  
”Oh! I didn’t know cops had partners!”

Stunned into silence, Hutch waited. He couldn’t believe it…Not only had Starsky never introduced Hutch to Linda, he had never even mentioned him to his girlfriend! And they’d been dating for three months! And who didn’t know that cops had partners?

“Well, Hutch, is it? Dave was here, but he left. He’s headed back to work.”

“Thanks, Linda.”

“You’re welcome! Bye now!” she said brightly, and hung up. Hutch headed back toward the precinct, thinking how far he and Starsky had come from their past friendship, and wondering what in the hell Starsky wanted with an empty-headed woman like that every night of the week.

Starsky had just pulled up and gotten out of the car when Hutch rounded the corner.

“Starsk!” Hutch called to him. “Dobey wants us to follow this lead.”

Starsky turned around, his face a mask. “You follow it. I got paper work to do.”

Hutch reached him before he could climb the stairs. Grabbing him by the arm, he spun him around.

“Starsky, we need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk, Hutch. You can do this by yourself, you don’t need me. I told you, I have paperwork.”

“I want to talk about  _us_ , Starsky.” He could see the fear rise up in Starsky’s hooded eyes before it was quickly squelched.

“Our friendship…our partnership,” he qualified. “You never talk to me anymore. Hell, you never even want to be around me anymore.”

Starsky looked away, shook off his partner’s arm. “We talk all the time.”

Hutch laughed humorlessly. “You tell me good morning. You ask me to pass you a report. You tell me how many times you banged your girlfriend last night. We talk, but we don’t  _say_ anything.”

“I’m just putting all I got into this relationship with Linda. I think it’s getting serious.”

“That’s great, buddy,” Hutch said softly, touching his arm. Starsky pulled away, then tried to cover the move by scratching his neck.  

“I just talked to her on the phone,” Hutch continued. “…she seems nice. I’d like to meet her sometime.”

Starsky’s face clouded. “You talked to her just now?”

“I called your place looking for you. She…uh…she’d never even heard of me.” Hutch waited, expecting Starsky to feel guilty, to maybe open up to him for the first time in months. Instead, he could see anger rising in his features.

“I got paper work,” he started to climb the stairs.

“Starsky!” Hutch called after him, wanting to stop him, to beg him to talk. To ask him could they just _please_ turn back time and go back to the way it used to be. But the cold eyes his partner turned on him squashed those words and instead Hutch mumbled, “I don’t have a car.” Starsky tossed him the keys to the Torino and walked away, disappearing into the station.

 

An hour later, Starsky sat hunched over his typewriter, telling himself for the millionth time that he hadn’t lied, he did have paperwork to do. And it wasn’t so bad that he’d never mentioned Hutch to Linda…he’d been trying to keep work and home separate. And the look on Hutch’s face hadn’t been hurt…Hutch understood how it was with women.

And it wouldn’t be a good idea to walk over and smash Sims' face in, jamming that toothpick all the way up his big, fat nose. Gees, he hoped it was at least a fresh toothpick, and not the same one he walked in here with two years ago.

Starsky sighed, pulled the report out of the typewriter, signed it, and inserted the next one. Man, he had gotten really behind in his paperwork. Of course, used to be Hutch helped him with it. It wasn’t that Hutch hadn’t offered lately--Starsky hadn’t accepted. Because he was pushing Hutch away. All the time.

Dobey’s door opened, and Starsky hoped he wasn’t going to yell at him again about not going with Hutch.

_“If I’d wanted you to stay and do paperwork, I would’ve told you to do it. I said for you to go with your partner and talk to this guy!” Dobey had hollered at him when he’d returned to the squad room and given his lame excuse for sending Hutch off alone._

_“If you want another partner, Starsky, I suggest you tell me now.”_

_“Whadya mean, Cap’n?” Starsky had asked, surprised._

_Dobey had sighed from deep in his belly and eyed Starsky grumpily over his desk. “It hasn’t escaped my attention that the two of you aren’t getting along. Haven’t been for months. And it seems to be more or less one-sided---your side. Hutch says everything’s fine. Is there anything you want to tell me, Starsky?”_

_Starsky had made up something about a private issue, nothing to do with Hutch. He’d told him Hutch was giving him some space about it._

Lord, he didn’t want another partner, couldn’t even fathom it. No matter what. He looked at Dobey now, trying to gage the man’s mood. He definitely didn’t look like he was going to tell him off again.

“Cap’n?” Starsky inquired, thinking Dobey looked more like he’d eaten a bad burger for dinner last night and it was just catching up with him.

“Get your jacket, Starsky, and come with me.” Dobey headed out the door, leaving Starsky no choice but to follow.

When they reached the street, they headed around back to where Dobey’s car was parked.

“Mind tellin’ me where we’re going, Cap’n?” Starsky asked, more than a little startled and perplexed about this excursion.

Dobey settled behind the wheel of the dark sedan and started the engine. “Put your seat belt on, Starsky,” he demanded, reaching back to buckle his own. Starsky complied.  _Gees, a seatbelt. Who wore those?_

He tried humor. “I said I didn’t want a new partner, Cap’n. You and I probably wouldn’t work out, anyway. I’ve been told I’m annoying.”

Dobey grunted, pulled into traffic, driving slowly and carefully, methodically taking turns and keeping his eyes on the road. It reminded Starsky of outings with his grandpa.

Becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second, Starsky started running possibilities through his head. His boss didn’t usually take assignments on himself, but it was possible with Hutch out that Dobey had gotten something and decided he’d accompany Starsky. But why wasn’t he filling him in?

Was he in trouble? Was Dobey taking him somewhere to ream him out? No, that didn’t make sense. His captain had no problem reaming him out in the office in front of everyone. In fact, Starsky suspected that was his favorite place to do it.

Then was it something personal?

Dobey made another two turns, and they were pulling into the hospital parking lot. A sudden jolt of cold, unadulterated fear started in Starsky’s gut and climbed upward, skidding his heart into such rapid palpitations, he grabbed at it with his hand.

The captain had found a parking space and turned off the car. Now he turned to Starsky, concern in his eyes.

“Get a hold of yourself, Dave.”

_Oh god, Dobey only calls me by my first name when it’s bad news._

Starsky turned fear-ladened eyes to Dobey. “What’s happened?” he whispered hoarsely, afraid to know. He wanted to turn back the clock. He wanted to open the door and run away. He didn’t want to hear Dobey’s words. He clutched his shirt in his fist where it lay over his heart.

Dobey put a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s been an accident.”

Starsky’s mouth parted, the words stuck somewhere between his mind and his throat.

“It’s Hutch, and it’s bad, son.”

A loud, incessant ringing built up in Starky’s ears, and his vision began to go black. He leaned forward, clutching at his stomach. Dobey was shaking him by the shoulder, calling his name. “Get a hold of yourself, now, Starsky. Come on, now. Hutch needs you.”

Starsky grabbed onto the words and held on. Hutch needed him. He had to be there for Hutch. He took several deep breaths. Dobey had unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed his head between his knees. Slowly, his vision cleared and he pushed himself up.

“Sh-shot?” he managed to gasp.

“Car accident,” Dobey told him. “He lost control going down a hill. Smashed into a tree at a high rate of speed.”

Starsky’s mouth fell open. “No!” he grabbed the door beside him. “No! It was the brakes! Oh my god!”

Dobey frowned. “What are you talking about?” He unbuckled himself and opened the car door. “Come on, Starsky, we need to get in there.”

Starsky climbed out of the car, his mind racing. He had sent his best friend out in his car---knowing its brakes were in bad need of repair. He’d sent him out alone…he was his partner, and he’d let him down. Hutch had crashed because of him!

He felt sick. Lunging over to the grass, he retched, vomiting up everything in his stomach. When he finished, Dobey was waiting for him by the door, eyes full of pity.

“Dave, I’m sorry, but this may be too urgent to wait any longer.”

Starsky straightened, the words sending a new surge of nausea through him.  _Hutch is dying._  He summoned every bit of strength and courage he had and followed his superior into the hospital emergency room, his legs like water.

Dobey handled everything—showed his badge, asked after Kenneth Hutchinson at the desk, escorted Starsky into the back.

“They’re still working on him,” he told Starsky. “They said we can wait here.”

Just then the double doors opened and several nurses and doctors wheeled a stretcher out, heading down the hall at a high rate of speed. Starsky was on his feet and after them, reaching the stretcher as they pushed the elevator button.

“Hutch—“ he rasped, catching a glimpse of his barely recognizable partner. Bloodied, his clothes cut away, both eyes swollen shut, a hideous laceration just visible on his shoulder half hidden by the sheet. An IV connected to a very bruised arm. He looked like …Starsky couldn’t think of words to describe it.

“He’s a cop. I’m his partner,” Starsky told one of the doctors as the elevator doors opened.

“Emergency surgery,” was all the doctor got out before scrambling into the elevator with the stretcher, tubes, and other hospital personnel.

“We’ll let you know,” a nurse said kindly as the elevator doors shut between them.

Starsky turned to Dobey, a lost little boy look on his face. “Here,” Dobey said, taking Starsky’s arm. “They gave us a private room to wait.”

He opened a door and led Starsky inside, prodding him gently into a seat. After a moment, he pushed a paper cup of water into his left hand. “Drink this, Dave.”

Starsky obeyed, his mind a jumble.

After a moment, he croaked, “This is all my fault.”

”Nonsense, Starsky,” Dobey barked, then made an effort to gentle his voice. “This wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

“You don’t understand…I knew about the brakes. I knew they were going…and I gave Hutch my keys! Didn’t bother going with him.”

“You had paperwork. You told me yourself. Besides, you were driving the car…the brakes must’ve been okay.”

Starsky shook his head. “I didn’t want to go with him, Cap’n. And I knew those brakes needed attention.”

“So you sent your partner out to wreck the car and die,” Dobey stated dubiously.

Starsky shook his head, “No!”

“Of course you didn’t, Starsky. You were going to have the brakes tended to when you had time.”

“But I didn’t even warn Hutch about them!”

“On purpose? No, of course not. Starsky, I don’t want to hear any more of this bullshit. Everybody knows you wouldn’t hurt Hutch. I know it, you know it, Hutch knows it.”

“Hutch doesn’t know the half of it, Cap’n,” Starsky murmured.

“You want to tell me what’s really been going on between the two of you?” Dobey asked, staring Starsky down.

Starsky sighed. “I love him.”

“Of course you love him. Why aren’t you getting along with him?”

Starsky looked at his captain. The large black man, so tough and yet so understanding. Would he understand this? Did Starsky care? All this time, Starsky had been running from the truth because it made him uncomfortable. Scared him. He’d pushed the most important person in his life away from him. He’d hurt him deeply, and now he’d hurt him physically. And all because of pride. Hutch had been right…it was all in the way you perceived it. Starsky loved Hutch. He wanted to be with Hutch. He wanted to talk to him, touch him, and to show him how very much he meant to him. Some people would call that gay. Sims, for instance. Did he care what someone like Sims thought? And what was “gay”? It was only a word. A term that someone made up to refer to something. Only people made that “something” sound ugly, when it could be beautiful.

Dobey was waiting for him to speak, and Starsky was tired of being mute.

“I love him Captain. As a friend, a partner, a brother…and more.”

Dobey’s eyes widened a little, and he sat back in his chair.

“Perhaps I’m not the one you need to be telling this to, Starsky,” he suggested. “Who can I call to come sit with you? You have a girlfriend, don’t you? Or maybe that isn’t the best idea. How about that Huggy person?”

“Yeah, okay,” Starsky sighed, giving him Huggy’s number. He knew his captain was floored by this piece of news, and he knew that Dobey was only doing him a favor, as his superior, by avoiding the subject.

Dobey went out of the room and over to the payphones.  _Holy shit,_  he thought. He’d looked at that handsome, manly detective in that room and listened to him telling him that he was in love with his partner, another handsome manly man. Dobey thought nothing could ever shock him anymore, but this had. Sure, he knew those two were closer than close…some partners were. He’d seen them horse around, hug, and send signals to one another without speaking. He’d also seen them worry and cry for one another. But he’d also seen them with countless women over the years, and he’d never for one moment imagined that their feelings had developed into something more than a very, very close friendship. Hell, he didn’t even know something like that could happen! Did a person have to be born with the tendency for bisexuality? Hadn’t he read somewhere that all men had it in them somewhere? Now that thought just made him plain uncomfortable! He looked at the number he’d jotted on his hand, placed a coin in the phone, and dialed.

 

Forty-five minutes later, when Huggy arrived at the hospital, Starsky was still slumped in a chair. Dobey was reading a magazine.

“Hey, Starsky,” Huggy said, when he walked through the door. Captain Dobey stood up, tossing the magazine on a table.

“I’m going down to the cafeteria,” he announced, stretching. “Can I get you men anything?”  
”Not me, Captain Dobey,” Huggy replied. “What about you, Starsky? Coffee? Sandwich?”

Starsky just shook his head.

Dobey gave Huggy a look that plainly said  _do something with him_ , and left, obviously glad to escape the room. Starsky looked at Huggy, who looked back at him with liquid chocolate eyes.

“Is it really as bad as the captain intimated on the phone?” Huggy asked, taking a seat next to Starsky.

“The nurse has come out once. She told me he has internal injuries. They’ve been giving him transfusions all through the surgery.”

“What’s his blood type?”

“B Negative.”

“I’m not a match, or I’d offer,” Huggy said with a sigh.

“Me neither.”

“What are his chances?” Huggy asked morosely.

“Not good,” Starsky answered, putting his head in his hands.

Huggy put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, Starsky. Hutch is strong and young…and he won’t give up. You know you two always give each other strength.”

Starsky shook his still-bowed head. “Not this time, Huggy. I’ve let Hutch down.”

“Now, Dobey told me you blame yourself because of your bad brakes, but that’s just stupid! You would never intentionally hurt Hutch.”

Starsky lifted his head and stared him in the eyes, his face wet with tears. “You’re wrong there, Huggy. I may not have intentionally sent him off to get killed, but I’ve been hurting him for months.”

“What’re you talking about, Starsky?” Huggy sounded like he didn’t believe him, and Starsky determined to set him straight.

“Hutch and me…Well, you know how we like to play those mind games…”

Huggy rolled his eyes and nodded. “Do I ever! You two get up to some of the stupidest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, that’s what we were doing---a game to see who could make the other the most uncomfortable. And---we discovered something about our relationship. And I couldn’t handle it. I ran away from it. And Hutch…he did his best to cover it up and make everything okay with me. To make me feel better…” his voice broke. “but I wouldn’t let him. I pushed him away and kept pushing. Who has Hutch ever had in his life except me, you, and Dobey? I took my friendship away and buried myself in a farce of a relationship with a girl who can’t count past a hundred. And why? Because she kinda looks like Hutch, but she doesn’t sound like him. So I can bury myself in her, think of him, but not have to listen to him because  _that_ would remind me just how much I love him and make me feel less of a man.  How  _dumb_ is that, Huggy?”

If Huggy was surprised by Starsky’s declaration of love for his partner, he didn’t show it. He watched his friend for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Pretty dumb, I agree, but pretty normal, too. What makes you think it should be so easy for you to just switch your sexual preferences like that, Starsky? Hutch would have a hard time of it, too, no pun intended.” Huggy smirked and brought a tiny, if fleeting, smile to Starsky’s tormented face.

An inside phone on the wall rang, and Starsky jumped for it.

“Hello? Yes, this is Detective Starsky…yes.” He sighed. “Okay. When will…? Yes, I understand. Thanks.” He hung up.

Huggy looked a question at him.

”He’s alive. Out of surgery. Lacerated liver, lost his spleen and a kidney. A lot of bleeding. He’s barely holding on. They have him in recovery, then he goes to intensive care.”

“He’s alive,” Huggy said. “Just hold on to that.”

“But for how long? I have to talk to him, Hug. What if he dies and I don’t get to talk to him?”

Huggy didn’t have an answer for that.

It was very late when Hutch was moved into a room in intensive care. A machine monitored his heart rate, countless tubes snaked out of his arms, and he was pale as paper under his bruises. Starsky approached his bed and stared at him for a long time, wishing he could take away the pain his partner had been through. Reaching out, he tentatively touched the pale hand on top of the covers, one of the few things without a tube running out of it. His own hand looked so dark and alive against it. He curled his fingers around the palm and gripped tightly.

“I’m here, buddy,” he said. “And I’m not going anywhere. And when you wake up, if you wanna talk, we’ll talk. I’d do anything for you, Hutch,” his voice broke. “Just don’t leave me.”

Dobey stuck his head in the door and motioned for Starsky to come out. Starsky took another long look at Hutch, reluctantly released his hand, and followed Dobey out into the hall.

“When did you get back, Cap’n?” Dobey had gone back to the office several hours ago.

“Just now.” He pointed his chin toward Hutch’s room. “How is he?”

“He’s hangin’ in.”

Captain Dobey cleared his throat. “Starsky, a woman named Linda called for you at the station. Said she hasn’t heard from you and she’s worried.

_Linda, shit. He’d forgotten all about her._

 “What did you tell her?”

“I told her your partner had been in a bad accident, and she’d hear from you soon.” He handed Starsky a card. “Also, this is where your car’s been towed. It was totaled.”

Starsky shoved the card into his pocket. The last thing he cared about right now was his Torino. The fact that it was totaled only reminded him that Hutch had been in it.

“That all, Cap’n? I wanna get back in there with Hutch.”

Captain Dobey sighed and nodded. “I’m going home. Call me if there’s a change. Huggy’s in the cafeteria, and he’s going to bring you something to eat.”

Starsky nodded, doubting he could eat, and went back into Hutch’s room, silent except for the beeping monitor. Pulling a chair up to Hutch’s bed, he sat down and took his partner’s hand again. He should call Linda. He sank down a little, resting his head on the puffy plastic lining of the chair. Closing his eyes, he fell asleep, Hutch’s hand enfolded in his.

Linda appeared at the hospital sometime in the middle of the night, after Huggy had come and gone and Starsky had fallen back asleep.

“Dave, I’ve been so worried about you!” She stared up at him with limpid blue eyes that mirrored her concern.

“I’m really sorry, Linda, I’ve just been so worried about Hutch,” Starsky said, finding them a seat in the hallway near Hutch’s room. “I meant to call you, but I fell asleep.”

“You look exhausted, poor baby.” Linda ran her hand through his hair. “I brought you some soup.” She reached into a canvas bag at her feet and took out a sealed Tupperware bowl and a plastic spoon. “You need to eat.”

Starsky thanked her and made a show of opening the bowl and eating a few bites. The beef and tomato soup was delicious, and it did make him feel a little better physically. He hadn’t touched the sandwich Huggy had brought him earlier.

“Why didn’t you ever mention this partner of yours?” Linda asked, pulling a Coke out of the bag and handing it to him.

“I didn’t want to bring my work home.” Starsky watched as Linda pulled out a long French roll and unwrapped it, then got out a small container of butter and a plastic knife. Starsky wondered if she had his pj’s, toothbrush, and pillow in that bag, too. He wouldn’t put it past her.

“He seemed really nice on the phone,” Linda commented, slathering a chunk of bread with butter and handing it to him.

“He is,” Starsky said.

“Is that his room?” Linda pointed to the door Starsky had come out of when the nurse had gone to find him. Starsky nodded. “May I?”

“He hasn’t come to yet,” Starsky said.

“I just want to look. I won’t disturb him,” Linda promised.

“Well, okay.” Starsky watched Linda make her way down the hall and enter the room. She stayed in there a few minutes, and a crazy picture of a jealous Linda unhooking all of Hutch’s machines and smothering him with a pillow flashed into his mind, causing the bread to become stuck in his throat. He was trying to dislodge it with Coke when Linda came out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

“He looks pretty beaten up,” She observed. “Such a good-looking guy---I can tell, even under all the swelling and bruises.”

Starsky nodded.

“I bet I have a friend he would like,” she speculated.

“Linda…right now we don’t even know if he’s gonna make it.”

“Oh,” she said, looking crestfallen. “That’s too bad.” She waited until Starsky’d finished eating, and then packed everything away. “Are you coming home with me?” she asked him.

Starsky rubbed his eyes with his fists. “I can’t leave him, Linda. He doesn’t have anyone but me.” He realized how odd this must sound to her, considering she’d never heard of him until the day before. Then again, Linda wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack.

He stood, pulling her up with him. “Linda, we need to talk,” he began, his hands on her shoulders. This little introduction—the universal breakup prologue---should have clued Linda in on what they needed to talk about, but she just stared blankly up at him.

“Yes, Dave?”

Starsky's next words were cut off when an alarm sounded and “code blue” was broadcast over the hospital speaker system, along with the name of Hutch’s doctor. Three nurses and a crash cart sped into Hutch’s room. Linda instinctively clutched Starsky’s arm, but he shoved her into the nearest chair and went barreling down the hallway, stopping just outside Hutch’s doorway as a doctor pushed past him and began barking orders. Strong arms pulled Starsky into the hall.

“You need to get outta the way, Starsky,” Huggy Bear said into his ear. “Let them work on him.”

“Oh, God, Hug…” Starsky swallowed hard. “I’m so scared.”

“I know. Me, too.”

They could hear them trying to shock Hutch back to life and the heartbeat not responding. Starsky’s knees buckled, but Huggy kept him on his feet. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the beeping on the machine picked up with a steady, strong heartbeat. Starsky sagged backward onto his friend, almost pushing the thin man to the floor.

“Hey, let’s get you a chair! I may be a wiry specimen, but you’re heavy!” Huggy helped his friend to a seat beside a stunned Linda. Dr. Fiori exited Hutch’s room and walked over to them. “He’s stable now,” he told them. “We got him back.”

“Can I see him?” Starsky asked. The doctor nodded. “Sometimes patients do better just having someone with them.” Starsky got up and walked to the room, standing aside while the crash cart was wheeled out. He hesitated a moment before walking in, his eyes traveling to the beeping monitor and then to Hutch’s battered face. Reaching out, he took a strand of blond hair inbetween his fingers and rubbed, feeling its silky softness. Then he leaned forward and kissed Hutch on the forehead, so gently.

“It’s all in the way you perceive it, Hutch,” he whispered, and then moved down and ever so softly kissed his mouth. “In case you don’t get it, I’m showing you that I love you.”

He straightened with a sigh, wishing those blue eyes would open and look at him. Wishing he could tell him how stupid he’d been to deny his feelings. Tiredly running a hand through his hair, Starsky turned around to find Linda standing in the doorway.

_God, if she didn’t get it now, how was he going to explain it to her?_

But Linda did get it. She turned and walked out of the room. Starsky was too tired to deal with it. He knew she deserved better from him, but if she could just wait….

He dropped into the chair by the bed.  _Fuck it._  Taking Hutch’s hand in his, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

 

During the night, Starsky was vaguely aware of nurses coming in and out of the room, checking Hutch’s vitals, but no one bothered Starsky, so he slept on, Hutch’s hand still cradled in his. Morning sun was pouring through the window when he awoke to his hand being squeezed. Blinking, he sat up and looked over at Hutch. His partner’s eyes were closed.

“Hutch?” Starsky breathed. “Can you hear me?” Again the squeeze.

“Oh, thank God,” Starsky choked on the words. He figured Hutch couldn’t open his eyes because they were so swollen.

“Let me get the doctor…I’ll be right back,” but when Starsky moved to get up, Hutch’s grip on his hand tightened. “Okay, buddy. I won’t leave.” He reached with his other hand and pushed the call button. A nurse appeared.

“He’s squeezing my hand,” Starsky told her, and in answer, Hutch squeezed again.

“See?” Starsky smiled like a young boy.

The nurse walked over to the other side of the bed, checked the machine, and Hutch’s catheter bag, then leaned down and said, “Detective Hutchinson, can you hear us?” Hutch’s face moved imperceptibly. His tongue came out to wet his lips, and he tried to form a word.

“Excellent. Just rest and I’ll let Dr. Fiori know you are conscious.” She moved away from the bed and left the room.

Starsky moved closer to the bed. “Hutch, god, I’m so sorry…I let you drive my car, and the brakes had been acting up. I’m so sorry for that, and for so much more.”

Hutch gave Starsky’s hand a little pat. Starsky knew his partner, and he knew what he was trying to say. It was okay, and shut up about it.

“Okay, Hutch. I’ll shut up. For now.”

 

Hutch was in the hospital for a week. Starsky stayed with him as much as possible, but Dobey insisted that he come in to work occasionally to clear the paperwork. Starsky suspected it was really just a way to get him outside and out of Hutch’s hair.

“After months of being ignored, you’re smothering me. Go to work, please!” Hutch joked with him, weakly. He was kept pretty drugged up and he slept a lot, so Starsky hadn’t made a fuss about it. Besides, when Starsky wasn’t there, Huggy Bear was.

When the day came for Hutch to be released, Starsky took him home.

“I’m gonna stay with you for a few days,” he announced once he’d gotten his partner ensconced on the living room sofa with the TV on and a large glass of water at his side.

“I’m okay, Starsky, really. How’s Linda going to feel about you spending all this time with me?”

“She’s not going to care, because I’m not with Linda anymore.”

Hutch looked surprised. He lay on the couch in a white T-shirt and blue pajama pants, which Starsky had helped him put on. Two pillows from the bed propped him up. He was still very pale, and black and green bruises encircled his eyes. He looked as if he’d blow away in a strong wind, as Starsky’s Aunt Rosie used to say. He sat on a nearby chair reading the instructions from the hospital on how to change Hutch’s surgical bandages.

“How come, Starsk? I thought she was ‘the one’.”

“Come to find out, she wasn’t,” Starsky said simply. “We didn’t have a hellava lot to talk about.”

Hutch hid a smile. Linda’s inability to engage his partner’s quick mind didn’t come as much of a surprise. He didn’t push for any more details. He was so glad to have Starsky talking to him again, he didn’t want to ruin it.

“What about your car?” Hutch asked after a moment.

“What about it?”

”Is it…totaled?”

“You know it is.”

“Aw Starsk---“

“Forget it, Hutch.  _You_  were totaled. That matters a hellava lot more to me.”

Hutch smiled wryly and then winced at the pain this still caused his healing face.

“Don’t worry, Hutch. You’re still pretty,” Starsky assured him. “Your face is healing nicely. What I hate is that you lost a kidney.”

“A person only needs one,” Hutch reminded him.

“Well, what if mine go and I need a new one someday? Who’ll give me one now?”

“Dobey?” Hutch suggested.

Starsky made a face. “I don’t think they could find his kidney in all that blubber.”

“Starsky!” Hutch pretended to admonish.

“I know, I know. Dobey’s a good guy.”

Starsky got up and went into the bathroom, where Hutch could hear him using the sink. He came back with the bag from the hospital.

“I’m gonna change your bandages now,” he announced. “Let’s get this T shirt off of you.” He reached down, helped Hutch to sit up on the couch, and carefully bunched his shirt around his middle. “Can you raise your arms up?” he asked.

Hutch tried, grinding his teeth in pain. Starsky plopped down on the coffee table and maneuvered the shirt off as carefully as he could. “This was really stupid of me, Hutch, to put this shirt on you only to have to take it back off! I’m sorry, buddy. I’m such an idiot.”

Two bandages were positioned on Hutch’s torso, almost completely covering it. One was on the laceration on his shoulder, and the other covered the surgery scar. Starsky decided to begin with the shoulder.

“This may hurt a little,” he said, beginning to peel the white tape away from the skin.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a hairy ape like you are,” Hutch replied, then winced as the tape pulled away from his sensitive, bruised skin.

“See? I told ya,” Starsky grunted. He put the bandage to the side and looked at the wound. “Not too bad.”

Hutch struggled to look down, but it was difficult at that angle. He could barely make out the puffy red line running from the top of his right shoulder diagonally to his left nipple. “Lovely,” he said sourly. “The women are gonna flock around me at the beach.”

“When it heals it’ll just be a thin white line,” Starsky reassured him. “You can tell ‘em you got it in a sword fight.”

Hutch laughed, then winced again. “You’re gonna have to reign in that rapier wit of yours, Starsk, at least until I heal a little.”

“I’ll do my best, but it won’t be easy.” He took the hydrogen peroxide and wet a cotton pad. Gingerly, he brought it to Hutch’s wound and dabbed at it from one end to the other, watching as it bubbled. “I love this stuff. It’s so cool.”

“Glad I can entertain you,” Hutch replied, pulling one of the pillows behind his back in order to get more comfortable.

Next, Starsky pulled out some Neosporin, squeezed some onto a Q- tip, and ran it along the scar, causing Hutch to jump a little.

“That hurt?

”Some.”

Starsky grabbed one of the large, clean bandages the hospital had sent home with them, and told Hutch to hold it in place while he taped it on.

“One down, one to go,” he said jovially and began ripping the other bandage off.

“Ow, ow, OW!” Hutch protested. “That one is way more sensitive!”

“Okay, okay, I gotta idea.” Starsky disappeared into the bathroom and came out with a bottle of baby oil. “Good thing you like to stay baby soft,” he said, repositioning himself on the table in front of Hutch and pouring some onto another cotton pad. Gently he began wiping at the adhesive, coaxing it away from Hutch’s skin. Once he had it off, he repeated the cleaning process on this much angrier-looking scar.

“Anybody ever tell you you’d make a great nurse?” Hutch asked when Starsky had him all bandaged up again and had tucked him in on the couch.

Starsky just laughed. “Here, take your pain medicine,” he said, handing Hutch a pill out of one of the prescription bottles on the table. “Whaddya want for dinner, partner of mine?” he asked, hands on hips, watching Hutch wash the pill down with a gulp of water.

“Starsky, you don’t need to wait on me hand and foot like this,” Hutch said, struggling to place his water back on the table without spilling it, pain etched starkly on his pale face.

“Yeah, I do. You’re weak as a kitten.” He went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Looks like it’s gonna have to be sandwiches, unless you want me to go to the store.”

“Sandwiches are fine,” Hutch said drowsily.

Starsky set to making four of them, knowing he’d eat at least two. Ham, cheese, lettuce, mustard, pickle. He found some chips in the cabinet and added them to the plate. “These are masterpieces,” he bragged, carrying the large plate into the living room, where he found Hutch fast asleep on the couch, his mouth open and snoring softly.

Starsky smiled, shook his head, and sat down to eat a sandwich and watch his partner sleep, just happy to see him resting.

A week passed in comfortable routine. Starsky fed Hutch regularly, made certain he took his meds, cleaned and disinfected his wounds, helped him stay clean and warm, and entertained him as best he could with games of cards, TV, and general antics. He was pleased with Hutch’s progress. At first he had to help him to the bathroom, give him sponge baths, and wash his hair. By the end of the week, though, Hutch was able to take over all but the most difficult tasks himself.

Huggy dropped by on Saturday night with a bouquet of flowers.

“Why Huggy,” Hutch said, letting him in. “I was beginning to think you didn’t care.”

“I was trying to give you time to recuperate, turkey.” Huggy shoved the carnations in Hutch’s face and sauntered in. “Where’s your better half? I trust everything is simpatico with the two of you these days?”

“Everything’s fine,” Starsky said, coming out of the kitchen. “Oooh…flowers. I don’t suppose those are for me?”

“Negative, my furry little friend,” Huggy replied, taking a seat. “You haven’t done anything to deserve flowers, least of all fly face-first into a tree. I probably ought to give a bouquet to your Torino, though.”

Starsky chuckled and shrugged. “I’ll get it fixed up eventually, and you can court her all you want, Hug.”

Huggy’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to let me drive her?”

“No,” Starsky said. “You can sit in her, though.”

Huggy made a face. “I see how it is.” He leaned back in his chair. “You going back to work this week, Starsky?”

Starsky stood scratching his stomach through his shirt, looking at Hutch.

“Yes, he is,” Hutch answered for him. “He’s driving me nuts.”

The three men laughed, and shot the breeze until Huggy announced he had to get back to work.

“Happy hour is fast approaching, and those girls can’t handle it without me.” He patted Hutch on the face. “Glad you’re okay, blond brother.”

“Thanks, Hug. Oh, and thanks for the flowers!” he called to him as he disappeared down the stairs. Shutting the door, he turned to Starsky. “I meant what I said, Starsk, you’re going back to work. You’ve taken enough time off helping me. I can go back to desk work in another few days.”

”I’d say at least a week, pal,” Starsky corrected. He carried the flowers into the kitchen and searched the cabinets for a vase. He settled on an empty milk jug, cutting the mouth open with a pair of scissors.

“Beautiful,” Hutch commented, eyebrow raised, when Starsky set it on the kitchen table. He looked at Starsky with sudden affection and gratitude. “Thanks for being here for me, buddy.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be.” They stood looking at each other for a moment, until Hutch crossed the kitchen and looked out the window over the sink.

“And thanks for forgiving me,” he said softly.

Starsky was quiet a moment, trying to get a hold of his thoughts. He wanted to know something, but was unsure how to ask. Finally, he just dove in. “Hutch, I need you to tell me something truthfully.”

Hutch glanced at him. “Sure, buddy, what?”

“That day…when you kissed me. What exactly was that like for you? I mean, what did you think and feel?”

Hutch turned away, gazing out the window again. Starsky knew he was formulating the most truthful reply he could give, because that was the way Hutch was. He would give him the honest truth, because Starsky had asked him for it.

Finally, Hutch spoke, his eyes still on something outside. “I was having a good time, yanking your chain, you know? And I really did want to make a point. A kiss is a kiss, and I didn’t have a problem with it. But I was so certain you would.” He took a breath, seemed to remember what he’d promised, and continued, “when I …kissed you, I was surprised. It felt nice.”

“Yeah?” Starsky asked, taking one step toward him.

“Yeah,” Hutch nodded, still not looking at him, his thoughts far away.

“And then?”

“And then I felt this surge of….” Hutch breathed in  “love. So much love for you….” He shook off his daze and finally looked at his partner. “And you noticed the physical reaction, I’m sure.”

Starsky nodded. “Yeah.” He swallowed, emboldened. “Hutch, I know you thought you messed me up with that kiss. That I questioned myself as a man and that’s why I pushed you away.”

“Didn’t I?” Hutch asked quietly. The morning sun shone through the window, making his hair glow white and his eyes seem incredibly blue. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

“Stop sayin’ that!” Starsky objected, holding up a hand and taking another step forward. “It wasn’t that. When you kissed me, Hutch, I admit…I really wanted to show you that I was okay with it. I wanted to push you until you pulled away. I wanted to win our little game at all costs, so I took it further. And then…when you met me blow by blow, an incredible ….melting happened inside me. I’d never felt that way before, Hutch. Never. Not even with Teri. That’s what scared me.”

Hutch watched him, his eyes tearing up, but anxious at the same time.  Starsky took another step forward.

“Did you know, sometimes when we’re on a case,” he said softly, “you get all angry, and your voice gets all soft and steely, and you start jabbing your finger at the perp, and I’m thinking,  _man! I love it when he gets like this!_ ” Starsky shook his head in wonder, swallowing a lump in his throat. He took another step. “And sometimes, we’ll be in the car, and I’ll say something, and you’ll laugh—all those white teeth showin’ and your eyes all soft and beautiful, and I’ll say to myself,  _Starsky, you are so lucky to have this man for a partner_.” He searched Hutch’s face. “And when you had this accident…the pain I felt then was---“ he shook his head, unable to find the words. He stepped forward again, closing the space between them. “And I said to myself,  _Starsky, you idiot! What if he dies without you telling him these things?_   I never would’ve forgiven myself it that’d happened, Hutch.” He reached over and softly thumbed the tears from Hutch’s face, lingering on the blue-green bruises circling his eyes. “Does this make you uncomfortable?” Starsky gently ran the backs of his fingers across his partner’s cheeks.

Hutch whispered, “No,” only the sound didn’t come out.

Starsky leaned forward, his breath hot on Hutch’s cheek, and softly kissed the bruises there. “Does this?”

Hutch imperceptibly shook his head.

“Like you said, Hutch, it’s all in the way you see things,” his hand trailed down his jaw and rested behind his neck, gently tugging him forward. Their bodies touched, and then their lips. Starsky tasted Hutch’s tears and then pulled away an inch, whispering huskily, “Does this make you uncomfortable, Hutch?”

“N-no,” Hutch barely got the word out before Starsky’s lips covered his again in a seering kiss, obliterating all thought. Hutch’s hands came up, encircling his partner’s waist, pressing their bodies together, as his mouth moved to take in more of him.

Hutch was in heaven. He couldn’t believe this was happening…Starsky had admitted loving him like  _that_ , and he was kissing him in a way that was quickly dissolving him. He had completely given up all hope of this.  He felt weak and stumbled.

Starsky caught him under the arms. “Whoa, I think it’s a little too close to your surgery for me to be hitting you with all this Starsky charm!”

Hutch laughed, and bowed his head. Starsky pressed it to his chest and whispered in his ear, “We’ll take it slow, Hutch. Not just for you, but for me, too. But soon….soon I’m gonna show you exactly how much you mean to me.”

 

**One Month Later**

Starsky stood on the balcony of his apartment staring out over the city below. Strong arms came around him from behind, pulling him close, and the voice that was dearer to him than any other whispered in his ear.

“Happy, buddy?”

Starsky leaned his head back and rested his hands on his partner’s, which were clasped around his waist. “Happier than I ever thought possible,” he replied honestly. Hutch nibbled on his neck, causing sensations on his skin that were still new to him. When Hutch touched him, it was like nothing he’d ever known before. Their relationship had climbed to a level where he felt they were like one person---never to be parted. All of the fears he’d had dissolved the night he’d given himself completely over to the most important person to him in this world.

Dobey had never brought up the conversation he’d had with Starsky in the hospital about his true feelings for Hutch, preferring to ignore it. Sims still thought he was provoking them with unfounded comments, when he was really amusing them with founded ones. Huggy was the only person they could be fully themselves with, as a couple.

There was no question about their commitment to each other…they’d already had that before. All that they added to their relationship was a deeper understanding and demonstration of their love.

“Hutch,” Starsky asked now, looking out at the Torino, restored to its former glory and parked at the curb. “You ever think what might’ve happened if you hadn’t had that car accident?” His partner had also returned to his former glory---his workout sessions had his muscles rippling, and Starsky admired the fine tone of the arms that held him around his middle.

“Um…” Hutch pulled Starsky closer to him, “I’d still have two kidneys?”

Starsky elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Besides that. You think I’d be married to Linda?”

“Do  _you_?” Hutch asked, his breath tickling his ear and sending shivers up his spine.

Starsky thought a moment. “Naw. I think even if I’d asked her, I would’ve backed out. I was running from my feelings for you, and I knew it. Sooner or later I would’ve faced up to them.”

Hutch wrapped his arms even tighter around him. “I certainly hope so.”

”Okay, now, get ready, because now I’m gonna give you the big head…”

Hutch laughed. “ _Now_?” and Starsky actually blushed.

“Down boy. I mean this next statement’s gonna make you even fuller of yourself than you already are.”

“Okay, shoot.” Hutch nuzzled his shoulder.

“What you said before…about perception. You were right on the money. Before, when I thought about loving a man---even you---I thought it was  _bad._  ‘Cause most of the world says it is. And now, when I think about it, I  _know_ it’s  _good_! And all my feelings about it have completely changed. Even Sims and his crap doesn’t bug me anymore.”

“Happy to enlighten you, buddy. If I’d known that showing that to you would change our lives so completely and wonderfully, I’d have done it a long time ago.”

“But what about the rest of the world, Hutch? Are we gonna have to hide this forever?” Starsky asked, a bit sadly, because now that he felt this way, he’d like everybody to know it. Hutch let go of him, and Starsky turned around to look into his eyes.

“I wish I could say it would be okay to tell the rest of the world, but I don’t think that’s going to happen anytime soon.”

Hutch looked so down about it, Starsky wished he hadn’t brought it up. “It’s okay, Hutch. We’ll just keep it between us. Someday the rest of the world will see it like we do.”

“I hope so, Starsky, because I’d love nothing better than to shout my love for you from the rooftops,” Hutch told him, kissing him gently, then pulling him closer and taking his mouth more urgently with his.

“Maybe you can settle for just shouting it from the bedroom for now,” Starsky suggested, when they came up for air.

Hutch agreed wholeheartedly.

**finis**


End file.
